


petrol soaked paper and fireworks

by hooksandheroics



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, The Blue Spirit Makes a Comeback, Vigilante
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24609580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/pseuds/hooksandheroics
Summary: The Fire Lord disappears at night to Agni knows where. Good thing Katara can be as quiet as him.(Title from Foy Vance's She Burns)
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 259





	petrol soaked paper and fireworks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DelinquentWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelinquentWrites/gifts).



> great thanks to allie for pulling me into this pit, so now here i am.

The capital city of Caldera is a very strange sight in the middle of the night. There is the perpetual glimmer of the cobblestone pathways around buildings and into alleys. The shadows cast upon the streets dance with the lights of lamp posts lit with eternal fires. Katara tries very hard not to shiver at the warm breeze that blows through the emptiness of Caldera.

It's perhaps a quarter after midnight, but the warmth doesn’t ever really vanish. The people of this nation run hot, the core of their beliefs run deep. The Fire Lord is trying to persuade lava into changing its course, Katara can tell.

 _But if anyone can do it, it’s Zuko,_ a tiny voice says in her head. There’s change already, the people already believe in him. A small flame of pride sways in her chest a little bit at the image of Zuko smiling at her from across the table after a council meeting. They’d just breached a contract between tribes and nations, his hand had shaken around the goblet he was holding, but his eyes were molten gold and sincere when they found hers.

And he’s determined, Katara thinks to herself. So proud is his heart when presented with an opportunity to right the wrongs that his predecessors had done, and for that alone, Katara will never waver by his side.

Until, of course, he does something stupid. Tonight sounds like one of those times.

She wasn’t even supposed to be out in the hallways of the old palace, but she couldn’t sleep. She thought she’d get a steaming cup of calming chamomile tea and try to glue her eyes to sleep with its heat if drinking it wouldn’t help. Instead, she sees a dark figure exiting the Fire Lord’s chambers, melting into the shadows of the night without a single glance back.

 _He should have_ , thought Katara. She would know those shoulders and that gait anywhere.

 _And if he did?_ She asks herself now. If he did look back, what would she tell him? Being Fire Lord doesn’t come without threats to his life, and while Katara has had front seat knowledge to just how powerful of a bender he is, all it takes is a knife to the heart. Sneaking out at night means less security and despite their animosity at the beginning of it all, Katara cares for him the same way she does every member of their ragtag bunch.

 _Maybe even more_ , the tiny voice says again. She snuffs it out before it clouds her senses over.

Zuko had disappeared into the shadows of some local shop’s awning a little over five minutes ago, and now Katara is left in the dark with only her instincts to follow to know where the Fire Lord is.

Logic says get the royal guards, get Uncle even if he must be sleeping soundly in his room, get _back up_ , but the minute she hears muffled struggles, she sprints towards the commotion, needless to say, _illogically_.

She stops at the corner before the alleyway siphons into a smaller pathway, the darkness making it hard to gauge her surroundings. She does hear the noises clearer, the shuffle of trained quiet feet on dust, the stumbles, the grunts. Her heart pounds when the pathway lights with subdued firebending, not as strong as it could be, but dialed down to not burn anything and cause a commotion.

She peers around the corner and there he is – or not _him_ , but someone. Katara counts six people, five of them have their faces covered with cloth. They wear dark clothes the color of shadows, and their feet are light on the ground. They strike with coordination, like a choreographed attack, blow after blow landing like incessant heartbeats against –

A masked man. He wears the face of a blue monster, something Katara has heard described in tales of old. (Quietly, at the back of her mind, she hears the rumors of servants and kitchen staff about a quiet masked man prowling the night, looking for a gang.) His enemies strike at his most vulnerable spots – stomach, jaw, shoulder, the back of his knee. She swallows a yelp when the masked man falls to his knees with a pained grunt, only to immediately slide around and trip the opponent behind him with an outstretched foot.

Also a trained fighter, undoubtedly. Quick, agile, and strong.

(If she yells his name, would he pause to hear it? Is it really him?)

Her heart has more questions eager for answers, but someone’s in danger and she couldn’t help old instincts. She steps out from the corner and thumbs the cork stopper from her waterskin, wrists fluid as the water inside.

She runs to the scuffle and grabs an opponent by both his feet with the tail end of her water whip, tugging hard and dragging him away with the force of it. He drops on his belly, hits his head on the ground, and slides to the farthest wall behind Katara, unconscious. This catches the attention of every single one of them, including the Blue Mask, and as if he doesn’t have a mask, she feels the shock when his eyes train on her.

The others though, they just see another adversary to whatever they were doing. She’s sure it’s evil. They target her next, and if it weren’t for the Blue Mask’s intervention, she would have gotten a shuriken to the forehead until he knocked it out with a precisely timed fireball.

The fight leads her into the middle, her back to the Blue Mask’s back, and for a second, she feels him take in a huge breath. He says, “you shouldn’t be here,” in that familiar low rasp. And then they’re attacking in sync.

*

She should have been keeping an eye on him for a myriad of reasons – one of which is because he’d already taken more than her, he must be weakened by bruises and exhaustion by now.

It became an even fight half an hour later, but she’s _tired_ and trying to keep her bending to the minimum to avoid destroying the nearby local shops.

Their opponents don’t bend at all, in fact, they swing swords and whips around with terrifying precision, she would infer some sort of special tactical combat training – bred and kept around the ranks and troops of the Fire Nation.

Dissenters, she thinks to herself. Exactly what she was fearing earlier, and here he is, looking _for_ them.

She turns the last of _her_ opponent to ice from neck to toes and turns to help the Blue Mask, only to see him on the ground, curled on his side and swallowing small whimpers. He reaches out a hand, fires at the retreating enemy, and catches him by the ankle. It doesn’t stop him from escaping, but it does slow him down, and if she had no other reason to stay, she would be after him.

But Zuko – the Blue Mask is on the ground and there’s blood escaping the spaces between the fingers of the hand he has pressed against his side.

_Oh, fuck._

Katara races to his side, notes with grave concern that the bottom half of his mask is now shattered, revealing his pained grimace and a trickle of blood running down the side of his chin.

“You got stabbed,” she gasps in surprise. “Let me see that.”

He lifts his hand and lets it fall to the ground beside him, his chest heaving with pained breaths. “Why did you follow me?” he asks, and yes, that voice must be the most familiar thing in this strangely quiet city to her.

She lays a hand on his clothed side, feeling the blood, the pathways around his body, and frowns. “This – it needs to be cauterized.”

There’s a pause where she feels like he’s staring her down, she couldn’t be sure with that mask on his face. So, she reaches for it and slips the tips of her fingers around the edges. His bloodied hand comes up to wrap around her wrist, and while the blood is sticky and warm, his skin feels like electricity running down her arm and through her body.

“Why?” he presses.

“I care about you,” she replies because she finds that it’s true. There seems to be little underscoring her thoughts right now but the quiet beat of _keep him safe_ , and she had never heard that in her head, not with that intensity, not even with Aang.

He sags with a deep exhale and lets her pull the mask off, and she finds his eyes closed, concentrated on managing his pain with tiny hitches in his breath. There’s a bruise on his cheek and at the hinge of his jaw, but the most pressing matter is the bleeding gash on his side.

“Zuko,” she quietly prods. He opens his eyes and fixes her with a glassy stare. “We need to close this wound, help me, please.” Her voice bleeds with desperation even as her mind refuses to let her think about the consequences of blood loss this heavy. _“Please,”_ she repeats.

He licks his dry lips and swallows, eyes close to slipping shut. Katara puts more pressure on the wound and begs for Agni, for Tui, for La, to let him stay awake for a little longer. The Fire Lord can’t die this way.

“Heat up your hand, Zuko, we need to seal this shut,” she says as she lifts the shirt to his chest. It’s a whole mess of ruined fabric and blood, but she wills herself to stay focused. When he lifts his hand, she helps guide it to the gushing wound. “This is going to hurt. You ready?”

He nods, and by Agni, he gives her a small, barely there smile. He grunts, and in a fraction of a second, his hand glows red, she hears the sear of skin, and smoke rises. She watches his face contort, but when it’s over, he opens his eyes and nods at her.

“We need to get you to the palace,” she tells him when he’s taken a breath.

Zuko shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “I can’t go back there like – like this.”

“But you’re hurt!” she hates how indignant she sounds, but she hates more the way he’s so stubborn.

He stares at her, eyes hard and determined, then turns away to face the beginnings of the rising sun. It’s too early yet for shops to open, but she hears the city waking up. “Help me stand, I’ll explain on the way.”

*

“You received _what_?” she almost yells.

The warehouse is abandoned, except for the mound of hay at the corner where she thinks she can lay the injured Fire Lord-turned-vigilante-at-night down so that he can rest and explain. He’s lying on his back, still weak and tired, but more alert now that he’s not bleeding out. Katara thinks it’s the right time to grill him.

Zuko winces at her tone, and then at the echo of her tone as it hits the walls.

“A letter.”

“No, what did the letter say. Tell me again.”

He fixes her with a glare. “An invitation to surrender,” he finally replies. “I _didn’t_ go, obviously. I just trailed the party for a couple nights to see where they’re hiding. I would have found out if I had gotten just one of them as prisoner.”

She huffs because all of this is stupid – he’s stupid. She wants to smack his arm, but she wouldn’t want to cause more harm. But if he were healthy, she would. She damn would.

Katara pushes his shirt until it rests on his chest again, assessing the damage without really looking at _him_ , because then she would be distracted by the result of the daily trainings and the royal upbringing. Her hands, she keeps them light on his skin, cleaning the blood and dirt. She sees a deeply disturbing bruise in the middle of his chest the size of her fist, she works on that, too. If she focuses on the small moans of pain that he makes, she will get distracted. She can’t afford that, so instead, she talks.

“You should have told someone.”

_You should have told me._

He scoffs. She hates that scoff. “I don’t want to drag anyone else into this. These are my father’s faithful followers, they’re determined to kill me. It’s my fight and no one else’s.”

“Stupid.”

He starts. “What did you say?”

Katara lifts her head and glares at him with all the vitriol in her body that she can muster. “You’re so stupid. I can’t believe the Fire Lord is this _stupid_.” She plants her hand on his chest, right above the bruise, right above his beating heart.

She can’t help thinking about the taste of the tea his Uncle would make, then serve, and _then_ leave them with. She hears the door to Zuko’s private office close with a click in her head, she hears his nervous chuckle as he tells her that _Uncle is just being nosy, he can’t help it in his old age_.

Tui, his smile as he shakes his head, his eyes as he turns that smile to her. She would have kissed him if – if she… if she could just untangle the mess in her chest. They were supposed to talk about trades, markets, and routes, but he asks her about Sokka and Suki, and next thing she knows, she’s barefooted and lying down on the couch in his office. He’s leaning on the cushion by her head, legs sprawled on the ground and laughing. It’s the most relaxed she’s ever seen him and breathing hurts for a small while until he’s peering at her from his position.

He must have asked something, something she didn’t get to hear because she’s so focused on the warmth in her chest.

She simmers with the desire to untangle the mess in her chest.

So yes, he’s being stupid for not telling anybody because at the very least, she and Zuko are _friends_ , and as established, friends help friends with their crises.

He touches her hand and his gaze is soft, like he understands. He _doesn’t_ , La, she hopes he doesn’t understand yet, because if he does, then she’s doomed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Katara,” he says. His voice is light and if she could ignore his thumb drawing shapes at the back of her hand, she couldn’t ignore the light hitting the amber in his eyes and making them brighter in their sincerity. “I didn’t want you to worry. Now I know it made you worry more. I just,” he sighs so quietly, so softly, it breaks her heart a little. “If you get hurt by helping me, I wouldn’t be able to stand myself.”

In that moment, he looks so young and battered and tired. She feels his heart under her palm, and if she leaned forward to lay her forehead on his, it’s alright. She’s a little tired, too.

_Friends rest together._

She knows him, much as she loathes it, maybe even better than most people. She knows that ever since becoming Fire Lord, he’s taken to doing all the work and taking all the burdens. Uncle had touched her elbow and told her to watch over his nephew with such solemnity.

If she could help him.

 _He doesn’t listen to his heart much,_ Uncle said.

_I wish he would._

_He hears it better with you around._

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and she kisses him.

It’s calm and unhurried, like there’s nobody out there out to kill him. Like they hadn’t just spent the whole night fighting until they couldn’t anymore. His lips are warm and soft, and like the hand that touches the side of her face, reverent.

He gasps into her mouth when she coaxes his open, and she just wants him to _listen_.

“Tell me,” she asks in between tiny, fluttering kisses. “Next time, tell me.”

He opens his eyes, dazed and unfocused, as his mouth hangs open a little. He seems out of breath, as she is, but he nods and asks in return, “Can I kiss you again?”

“Please,” she replies, and she couldn’t put pressure on him, not yet, though he tries. Their tongues meet, and she hears his quiet moan and feels the desperate flex of his fingers against the side of her neck. His other hand grips her shirt, pulls until she’s almost pressed up against him.

He's so stupid.

“I can’t put pressure on you yet,” she tells him, and by La, she’s smiling at this stupid boy. “You’re injured.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” he tells her as he kisses her nose. “Not at all.”

She buries her face against his neck and lightly bites at skin, and he sucks in a breath. “Katara,” he warns. He’s careful with his tone, and she hears it in his heartbeat. She lifts her head and runs her fingers down the side of his face, pushing his hair away from his eyes. He follows her touch like he could do nothing but. His scar feels rough under her fingertips, but she doesn’t mind, she never minded.

She’s still hovering over him, burning with the warmth between their bodies. Zuko smiles at the quiet that has enveloped the safehouse. “If you want,” he starts, stops, and swallows. “If you want, you can stay. At the palace. I could really use your help with… the council.”

Katara scoffs and rolls her eyes. “The council?”

His smile stretches to his eyes. “And other stuff.”

*

Two nights later, they’re standing in front of a shabby barn in the middle of the woods, the midnight moon the only light they have.

There might be a hundred, maybe two hundred, behind the door, but the Blue Spirit shoots her a smirk under the shattered shape of his mask and says, “You ready?”

Katara feels the tangle in her chest unravel a little, and returns his smile. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think! comment and kudos and bookmarks, they give me life!


End file.
